


What is Magic?

by Foxglove_Fiction



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxglove_Fiction/pseuds/Foxglove_Fiction
Summary: Tony's got a knack for asking impossible questions. Luckily, Stephen is used to dealing with the impossible.





	What is Magic?

“I still don’t get it.” I never have. How could I understand what goes through the mind of someone like the great _Sorcerer Supreme_ Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange anyway? He’s been in a world of his own since I met him. For the moment, though, he’s allowing me to be a part of it and it’s a rare opportunity.

I can feel his chest rise and fall against my back, the light brush of hair from his cheek against my own, and I relax back further against him in the bath, watching his scarred hands surface from somewhere beneath bubbles to do some of his mysticism. Honestly most of what he does with his hands mystifies me, but asking questions typically leaves me more confused than I started.

“You don’t have to get it, Tony,” I can feel the rumble and a smile tugs at my mouth a little as his breath brushes my shoulder, “that’s precisely the point. It’s magic.”

“I remember a time when people used to say 'magic is just science we don’t understand yet.'”

“Mmm? I used to say that, too.” Stephen’s voice is soothing when he’s being gentle like this. I can imagine him having good bedside manner in these moments. It doesn’t typically seem like his forte, realistically, but hey. I’m not the Doctor, am I? “But magic is just that. Magic. Does it have to be explained more than that? Is it still magic if it is?”

“Stephen, please. Do you have to talk in circles?”

“Would you like me to try and talk in the quantifiable absolutes of the magical and mystical powers of the cosmos, Mr. Stark?”

He’s teasing, now. I can feel his lips twisting into a smile against my shoulder as he presses a kiss there, and really I can’t help but sigh at him a little, smiling in turn. “Well, would you be willing to try?”

“Hm, I suppose I could attempt to indulge you. But it’ll be no better than trying to scientifically quantify love. Should I do that for you? Should I dissect what it is that makes me love you?”

I can’t help but chuckle at that, catching his eye briefly over my shoulder before sighing and resting my head against his shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe you should.” You can’t blame me, can you? We all need a little reassurance sometimes, and Stephen Strange is hardly the most openly affectionate person I’ve ever met.

“Needy.” There’s a grumble in his tone that perfectly expresses what I mean by his being ‘not openly affectionate’... but the little kisses he follows that with, and the soft sigh tell me that he’ll grant my request. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace-”

“Okay, okay Elizabeth Browning. You’re gonna try reciting poetry at me?” Stephen’s way of being shy. Using someone else’s words, rather than his own beautiful mind. “I wanted to know how _you_ love me, not how Lizzy B loved who-the-fuck-even-knows.”

“Put me on the spot then, why don’t you?” For a moment he’s quiet, his nose presses into the crook of my neck as he threads his fingers into mine, the water in the bath making a soft splashing noise as he adjusts. His discomfort is more clear in moments like these. His guard is down, he knows I can’t see him, we’re alone here and between his spells and my guards, we’re really as safe as we could be. As safe as either of us know how to be anymore.

“I can’t explain loving you any more than I can explain magic, Tony. There will never be time enough to put down all the words, and worse there will never be the words to truly put the feelings into them.” The room was awash in color all of a sudden, bubbles floating all about and within each bubble… a memory. Our memories.

“Stephen what on Earth…?”

“Love, I suppose. How can I put our memories together into words?” Bubbles is fine, however, apparently. “All of this is what it is to me… to love you. It’s memories, dreams, pasts and futures, colour, energy, wonder and enchantment… It’s the look on your face right now.”

I can’t begin to imagine what my face looks like right now, the room is radiant with blues and purples, pinks and oranges, greens and yellows, sparks, bubbles and everywhere something to look at, something to take in. But somehow, with everything I can see, the feeling of him wrapping his free arm around my waist and holding just a little tighter is the thing that pulls all of it together. “... I need to put you on the spot more often.”

“Don’t you dare. I can only ask you to marry me once.”

There’s water on the floor now, and a mess of bubbles as I turn quickly in place to stare at him. I need to see his face right this second. “Excuse me, wait what?”

“I told you I can only ask once.” He smiles a little wryly at me, and with a twist of the hand there’s a box. A small, ring-sized box. “So… Tony…”

“You’re serious? … you’re serious.” Surprise is a mild way to put my feelings. Suddenly I feel like I really get all the more what Stephen was saying… how can I explain this feeling…?

“Yes. Yes, I’ll… marry you…”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I was just having soft hours on Twitter and started writing without a plan for where it was going. This was the result. 
> 
> How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning is poem Stephen began to recite, for any who have an interest. I hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
